


For All Time

by quartetship



Series: A Fairy Tale [6]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Compilation, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Fairy!Marco, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6899935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And you will always be right here, where you belong."</p>
            </blockquote>





	For All Time

**Author's Note:**

> These are five snippets that run in order, all dealing with roughly the same topic, and hopefully make sense even if you haven’t read the earlier pieces. (Though it would certainly help...) Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Originally posted on twitter and tumblr!
> 
> \--

"They're going to use _needles_ on your skin?"

Marco slumped backward into the soft, worn cushions of Lorraine's couch, looking back at Jean across the tops of his knees, hugging them to his chest. Jean popped open the lid on an ink pad, poking it with his littlest finger, testing it. He looked back at Marco and nodded, reaching out to squeeze his knee reassuringly.

"Yeah. But it won't hurt. Not much, anyway." He turned his wrist upward, to motion to the thumbprint tattoo there, the shape of a heart that Marco had put there over a year earlier. "It'll be just like when I got this one. No big deal."

"They used needles for _this_ one?!" Marco grabbed Jean's wrist, examining the well-healed image there, tracing his thumb over it and worrying his lip. "You never told me that!"

"What did you think a tattoo _was,_ Marco?" Jean looped fingers over his, leaning forward to press their foreheads together, the best distraction he could manage. Marco glanced down at his own arms, his chest, the images of flowers and vines sprawling across his skin. He shrugged.

"I don't know." He dropped his face away from Jean's, pressing it into his shoulder instead, words muffled. "Not _painful_."

"It's not going to be painful, love." Jean waited for Marco to relax, and after a moment - as he always did when Jean used sweet words with him - he did. "It's gonna sting a little bit, but it's gonna be worth it. I _want_ this. So I can be reminded of you."

Marco shook his head. "But I didn't ask you to do this for me - I would never want you hurt, especially for me." He reached up to wrap fingers around the back of Jean's neck, pressing their faces together again. "I _love_ you."

"And I love you," Jean said softly, a grin beginning to pull at the corner of his lips. "And I know you didn't ask me to do it. If anything, you're the one doing something, for me. I really want this." He locked eyes with Marco, voice quiet, sincere. "Is that okay?"

After a long moment of studying his face, Marco slowly nodded. "Yes. If it's something you _want_ \- of course."

Jean grinned wider, slipping arms around Marco's neck and pressing a kiss against the side of his face. "I think you'll like it. Trust me."

"You know I do," Marco conceded, nosing against his jaw. "Always."

\--

"I can't believe you hid in my pocket the entire time."

"She was stabbing you!"

Marco sat on Jean's shoulder, smaller - and louder - than a tiny sparrow. Legs crossed under him and leaning over onto Jean's neck, he huffed, still worked up despite the two of them having left the tattoo shop hours earlier. Jean laughed, shaking Marco where he sat.

"She wasn't hurting me." He reached up with his unmarked hand and held it out for Marco. "The only one I think she was hurting was _you_. I could _hear_ you hissing."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Marco pouted for a moment before begrudgingly climbing into Jean's open palm, clinging to his thumb for steadiness as Jean dropped the hand to his lap. "It looked painful."

"It wasn't bad," Jean shrugged. He turned the tattooed palm upward showing Marco the tiny footprints - _his_ footprints - that the artist had put there. "Definitely worth it."

Marco eyed the tiny images cautiously, before fluttering from one arm to the other. He wandered toward the edge of Jean's palm, not daring the step on the reddened, newly inked skin. His feet were still stained from the ink they'd used to make the impression - the short walk Jean had asked him to take across the skin of his hand to make preparations for the tattoo artist. He lifted his foot and looked at it, mentally matching it to the marks on Jean's palm, before finally smiling, just a little.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Jean prodded his shoulder with the tip of his thumb, grinning. When Marco didn't answer, he shook his head, still smiling. "You like it. Don't lie."

The faint little laugh that came from Marco was even harder to hear, tiny as he was. But Jean didn't miss it. He dropped Marco gently onto his leg, flopping backward onto the bed to lie down, sighing happily. There was a quick, drastic increase of the weight on his lap, and suddenly Marco was human-sized, head perched on his folded arms, resting on Jean's chest. He smiled up at Jean, wings fluttering flat to his back.

"I do like it," he agreed. "Because you do. Whatever makes you happy."

Jean reached up to pass fingers through his soft, dark hair and _breathed_ , letting his chest rise enough to bring Marco with it, enough to pause and enjoy the moment. Marco nuzzled against his hand, glancing over at the other, a little more fondness in the way he eyed the new tattoos there. Jean grinned.   
  
"Good. Because I was thinking of getting another one..."

Marco scowled at him, a truly adorable thing to behold. "What? _Another_ one - where?!" He propped himself up on stiff arms, looking down at Jean with the sourest expression he could muster.

"Here." Jean patted his chest, right above his heart. "A big red flower. Like this one." He pressed his hand over the blooming rose, vining down over Marco's left side. "I just want us to match."

The change of expression on Marco's face was like water, trickling down during a rainstorm from the tall trees of the forest around them. All the forced hardness melted away, eyes shining as he slowly sank back down to rest on Jean's chest. He pressed his ear to the place where Jean had motioned to, blinking in time with the gentle rhythm of Jean's heartbeat, until they were both smiling again.

"Ok," he said finally. "Matching _does_ sound nice."

Jean let his eyes flutter closed on a soft sigh, reaching up to lace their fingers before nodding off to sleep, chasing dreams of a future matching Marco's, happy as he'd ever been. Happy, as he always was.

\--

Late summer was always beautiful in the Scottish countryside. Jean knew the sights of rolling green hills and fireflies and the fragrance of flowers fully in bloom well by the time he celebrated his nineteenth birthday. And he counted down the days until the end of August when he would be able to take them in again, in person.

This time would be different, though. This time, he wasn't visiting. This time, he wasn't _borrowing_ time with his aunt, with the friendly people in the tiny nearby town - or with Marco. This time was more permanent. On the calendar hanging in his bedroom in his parents' home in the states, the last Thursday of August was circled, red text written inside with a handful of exclamation points.

_'Moving day!!!'_

It had taken more than a little courage to confess to his parents that he had more than studying abroad and soaking up culture to gain from an extended stay with his aunt. Getting Marco to agree to meet them via Skype wasn't easy, either - especially considering it was left to Lorraine to help him get ready, while Jean coached them through setting things up over the phone. But the massive phone bill he racked up that day was worth it; his parents loved Marco. But how _couldn't_ they? Jean waited for a few more months before telling them that his 'extended visit' was actually a plan to relocate, permanently.

He was young. He was making a huge decision. He was taking a huge risk.

His parents were wonderful, but they were concerned to say the least, and had no problem voicing those concerns. Jean understood. But he was also prepared for their questions. He would work with his aunt, he told them. Save up money to go to school once he decided what he'd like to do, long-term. He'd have housing, employment, everything he needed - and his parents to come back to, if things ever fell through. After a few days, they seemed to come around to the idea, though his mother was more than a little teary-eyed, discussing it.

But they gave him their blessing. When he told Marco that night, Marco burst into a fit of excited giggles, wings fluttering so hard they rumpled his shirt up under his arms. Jean was glad his parents weren't around to look over his shoulder. They still didn't know _everything_ about Marco. But they knew enough to be happy for their son that he'd found him.

Jean left most of his possessions behind. Moving them would've been too hard, too expensive. So he took only what he could carry in a half dozen suitcases, and headed for his new home.

Lorraine promised him a surprise when he arrived, and he spent the first half of his journey wondering what it could be. The remainder of his trip was spent wishing he could speed things up, or at least find sleep. But he was too anxious, too excited to see Scottish ground again, too excited over the thought of lying next to Marco when he finally got the chance to rest. Lying next to him _any time he wanted to._

He was almost there.

When he stepped off the train he was met with a hard impact before his feet even touched the platform. Lorraine was squeezing him, nearly knocking the breath out of him, more excited than Jean had ever seen her. He hugged her back, exhausted but thrilled to see her, as well. Then she stepped aside, collecting a few of his bags.

And there was Marco.

Marco looked at him for a long moment, chewing on his lower lip to try to control the giddy smile spreading across his face. But then Jean held his arms out and both of them broke, laughing and crying at once as Marco let Jean lift him from the ground and spin him in place. He pressed his forehead to Jean's and whispered welcome greetings to him, different from his usual excited chatter.

Because this time, it was for good.

On their way home, they walked slowly, Marco slipping his shirt off as soon as they reached the limits of the secluded forest that wrapped around Lorrain's home and the scattered cottages she now operated. He shrank down small enough to sit on Jean's shoulder, wings twittering excitedly. Jean almost wished he could do the same, spend the last burst of pent up, excited energy vibrating through him. But there would be time. Later.

The three of them had dinner together, and then Lorraine pulled Jean along to show him his 'surprise'. Her steps led to one of the tiny cottages, the last in the line that ran closest to the edge of the forest. Jean raised an eyebrow, but she insisted they go inside. It was empty. Jean was confused.

"Okay, so...?"

"Do you like it?" She asked. Jean nodded, uncertainly.

"I mean, yeah? It’s nice. But I don't understand..."

"Well, I figured you'd like your own space, so you didn't have to put all of your things in the guest room." She smiled, waving around the small living room. "You'll have everything you need here - a little kitchen, a nice bedroom - and it's as close to the woods as we could manage."

Jean looked around, mouth hanging open slightly. "But Lori... I don't have the _money_ to--"

"No one said anything about money," she grinned, shaking her head. "As an employee, you'll earn a discount, anyway. So I've gone ahead and covered the cost of your stay for the next twelve months. Call it an _advance."_ She winked and then smiled between Jean and Marco. Marco looked at Jean anxiously, waiting for his response. Jean was quiet for a moment, taking everything in. Then, he laughed.

"Well?" Lori asked, arms crossed, though she was still smiling. "All you're gonna do is _laugh?"_

"Sorry, sorry!" Jean chuckled, trying to rein himself in. "I just... I'm laughing to keep from _crying._ This is amazing, Lori, I - thank you." He pulled her into a hug and she returned it, dancing them back and forth excitedly. Jean laughed again, looking up to see Marco smiling, at last.

They chatted for a while longer, Lori showing Jean how everything worked in the cottage - in his new _home._ She left as the sun did, wishing him a lovely evening, and telling the two of them not to be up too late, lest they miss brunch with her the next day. Jean waved her off with a smile and followed her outside. Once she was out of sight he turned back to Marco, expecting hugs and kisses. Instead, he was seized by the wrist and pulled after Marco as he dashed into the forest.

Once he found his footing, Jean ran alongside him, both of them laughing breathlessly. They reached a secluded clearing a moment later, Marco letting his wings stretch in the open air and grabbing Jean by the shoulders, hauling him into the air with him.

Above the trees, they looked out over everything - a beautiful stretch of green, hills and valleys and trees and flowers - and Jean grinned madly as he clung to Marco. In that moment, he had everything he wanted. Marco squeezed him, bumping Jean's nose with his own, and then they were kissing, sharing their excitement with murmurs of love between each one. Below them, the clearing that had been bare not moments before burst to life with color, blanketed with wildflowers of every shade.

It smelled of summer. It smelled of happiness. It smelled like _home._

  
Late summer was always beautiful in the Scottish countryside. But Jean couldn't remember an evening when it had been more so, than the first night of the rest of his life, with Marco.

\--

"They're going to hurt me!"

Marco scooted away from Jean, edging backwards on Jean's bed until his back hit the corner where two walls met at the end. He whimpered as Jean came closer, shaking his head in protest. It wasn't like him to raise his voice, so his terrified squealing only made Jean more desperate to calm him.

"Marco, no - no one is going to hurt you. The doctor is just--"

"They're going to try to cut my wings off - I know they are!" He curled both wings under his arms protectively, wincing when the one on his left brushed too hard against his side. "They're going to see me and see what I am and try to... _experiment_ on me, and - they're gonna _hurt_ me." The last few words came out as a broken little shiver, falling from quivering lips as Marco's eyes welled with tears, and Jean could feel his chest twisting painfully at the knowledge that he was absolutely scared to death.

"Marco, _sweetheart_..." Jean sat, still a few feet away, but not daring to come any closer. Marco's fear of humans was righteous; he didn't bother denying that. Instead he focused on another truth. Their truth.

"They're _not_ going to hurt you. No one is, as long as I'm here to have a say about it. You know I'd never let someone near you that might hurt you." He held out a hand and waited. It took a few moments of tense silence, but eventually Marco dropped an unsteady hand into his and nodded, signaling him to continue talking. "Your wing is really damaged though, and if we don't get it looked at, I'm afraid you'll lose it. Or I'll lose _you_."

Jean threaded their fingers together, circling his thumb over Marco's and turning their hands so the underside of his wrist was visible. Marco reached his own thumb up to trace across the heart shaped tattoo on Jean's skin there. He nodded - just slightly - and squeezed Jean's hand in his.

"Besides," Jean continued, determined to bring Marco as much comfort as he could manage before they were confronted with the actual experience of meeting with a human doctor for a very _inhuman_ medical problem. "My aunt knows this guy, and says he's really... _understanding_. Says he's a lot like her, so I wager he's probably at least _heard_ of fairies. I have a feeling he won't even be surprised to see you."

"Will you stay with me?" Marco asked quietly, letting his body slump against Jean's side. Jean raised an arm, draping it gently across Marco's shoulders.

"Of course," he promised. "I'll be right beside you, the whole time. Okay?"

After another long moment, Marco sniffled and nodded again, burying his face in the soft material of Jean's oversized sweatshirt.

"Okay. As long as you’re with me."

Jean swirled fingers over Marco’s shoulder, just above his damaged wing and pressed his lips there, whispering.

“Always.”

\--

  
  
"What's the matter?" Marco looked up from his handful of crumbly pastries to stare at Jean, sugar-dusted smile fading fast. "I thought these were your favorites?"

Jean pulled a tight smile and nodded automatically. "They are my favorite." He let fingers wander up and back down Marco's spine, between the joints of his wings. _"You're_ my favorite."

"So what's wrong?" Marco laid his food down entirely, right on the soft dirt in front of him. He licked the sugar from his fingers, and Jean couldn't help a brief, but genuine smile in response.

"Nothing. I mean - nothing that matters right now."

Marco shook his head, scooted closer. "If it's making you make that face, it matters now." He looped his smallest finger over Jean's, looking back at him expectantly. Jean looked back at the pastries on the ground, twisting his mouth while he searched for words. He wasn't very good at _not_ being honest with Marco.

"It's - I was just thinking - I'm not always gonna be around, y'know?"

Marco quirked his head to one side, frowning. "But... you _live_ here, now."

"Right," Jean nodded. "But I'm not... always gonna." When Marco still didn't seem to understand, Jean sighed and turned to face him fully, knees pulled to his chest. "I'm not gonna live _forever,_ Marco. Not like you."

Finally, Marco's face changed. But it wasn't the fall Jean was expecting. It was a slow, peaceful smile, and Jean was the one left staring, confused.

"I know that, Jean. I've always known that."

Jean frowned; he wasn't expecting Marco's response to _sting,_ but it certainly seemed to bother Marco less than he'd assumed it might. But Marco cupped a hand softly over one of his knees, waiting until Jean unlocked his arms and let his legs slide out from him to crawl into Jean's lap.

"Obviously I wish I could keep you beside me forever," Marco said quietly, pressing his lips for a breath of a second against Jean's forehead. "But just because I _can't,_ doesn't mean I don't want you as long as you'll have me. You're like... a flower."

"A _flower?"_ Jean looked up at him, eyebrow raised. Marco chuckled softly and kissed it, and Jean huffed indignantly. "Why am I a flower?"

"Because you're beautiful," Marco smiled. "Because I want to take care of you, and treasure you while you're here, even though I know that one day, you won't be anymore." He waved his hand out toward the edge of the forest where they sat, and with the breeze, hundreds of tiny blooms burst into existence. Jean reached down to pluck one, holding it along with his breath for a moment.

"But then - I'm _just_ a flower. Just another - nothing special."

Marco cupped his own hands around Jean's, and the flower grew larger, patterns and colors Jean had never seen in nature beginning to swirl over its petals. Marco smiled down at it and picked it up, placing it just behind Jean's ear. Then he took Jean's empty hand, and laid it over the bloom on his chest.

"You're not just another flower, Jean. You're _this_ flower. You're _my_ flower." He pressed Jean's palm flat against the moving image over his heart. "And you will always be right here, where you belong."


End file.
